


The Summer Folly

by elrhiarhodan



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Aristocrats - Freeform, Community: poetry_fiction, Eggsy and Harry are second cousins once removed, England After WWI, Harry and Lee are Cousins, Harry is WWI Veteran, Hartwin, Inheritance Laws, Kingsman Meets Downton Abbey, Lee Unwin Lives, M/M, May/December Relationship, Mention of Roxy and Female OC, alternative universe, non-spy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 10:00:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17681318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: Non-Spy AU, set in Cornwall, circa 1924. Harry Hart is a landed aristocrat and Eggsy, a student at Oxford, and somewhat friends with Harry's young cousin, Charlie, has been invited to spend the summer at Harry's estate.  Nothing, though, is quite as simple as it seems.





	The Summer Folly

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2019 [](https://poetry-fiction.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](https://poetry-fiction.dreamwidth.org/)**poetry_fiction** challenge, for the snippet:
> 
>  
> 
> _Just explain the mystery to me._  
>  _Did darkness burn all around?_  
>  _Or did you see, as I see—a quiet wood_  
>  _Outside the town, with a banquet_  
>  _In a field of belladonna?_
> 
>  
> 
> From _O Great Beauties!_ , by Tishani Doshi

The summer evening is warm, but the breeze from the nearby coast keeps it from being oppressive. Eggsy would prefer not to be garbed in formal evening wear, complete with a high-collared shirt and strangling bow tie, but as a houseguest, it wouldn't quite do to turn up for dinner wearing a loose-fitting linen suit and a light India cotton shirt. After all, there are standards to be maintained, especially for those _apparently_ not born to the manor. 

Eggsy wanders through the garden, admiring the night-blooming flowers. Some enthusiastic rare plant lover, probably long dead, had put a lot of effort into creating this setting, creating a feast for the senses. It's not just a visual triumph, there's beauty for the nose, too as the sweet scent of jasmine is undercut by the more bitter notes of lily.

The sound of footsteps along the gravel path tells Eggsy that he's no longer alone, and the particular aroma of Egyptian tobacco cutting through the floral perfume lets him know that it's Charlie who's interfering with his peace.

"There you are, old chap." Charlie's a little drunk and sounds more like a braying ass than usual.

"What do you want?" Eggsy doesn’t care that he's being particularly rude to the person who'd invited him, he'd come out here to be alone. A few weeks before the end of term, Charlie had issued an invitation to go with him to his Cousin Harry's place for part of the summer. They've been at Tintagel, the seat of the Marquess Cardoc, for the better part of a week and to Eggsy's delight, he's barely had to spend any time with Charlie.

"I thought I'd like to see how you would enjoy living amongst your betters." Charlie is being more obnoxious and condescending than usual.

"My betters?" Eggsy normally doesn't have a temper and Charlie's been a git he's put up with for three years at University. But there's something in Charlie's tone that sets Eggsy's back up and for a brief moment, he entertains the idea of snapping Charlie's neck. But then he remembers that he's supposed to be a gentleman and murder is a bit too rude, especially before midnight.

Charlie doesn't realize how close to death he'd just come and offers Eggsy a cigarette. Eggsy declines; Charlie's brand is particularly foul. "You know what I mean, Unwin. Thought I'd do you a favor and show you what kind of life you might have enjoyed if your father hadn't married your mother."

Eggsy grinds his teeth and starts to rethink his decision not to kill Charlie. "What do you mean by that?" Eggsy knows what Charlie is inferring, but he wants to hear him say it.

"Your father, Lee, could have been one of us, a second cousin if we'd still acknowledged the tie." Eggsy feels his temper begin to slip again at Charlie's undeserved use of the royal "we". 

It gets worse as Charlie goes on. "Did you know your great-great-grandfather had been the first Marquess of Cardoc?" Charlie's laughter is loud, he sounds like a braying ass. "Did your father ever tell you that he'd been second in line to inherit the Marquessate, but since he'd decided to go all Red Republican on the family, marry an assistant cook's daughter and take her name, he'd gotten himself disinherited."

Suddenly, Eggsy isn't angry anymore. He no longer has the desire to kill Charlie or even lightly maim him. Charlie has just proven that a noble birth line is no assurance of actual intelligence; the idiot has gotten everything wrong, down to the very laws governing the passage and inheritance of British noble title. Eggsy has long known that he's the great-great-grandson of the Marquess of Cardoc, and that through several untimely deaths; he'll end up inheriting the title, his da's disinheritance notwithstanding. 

Charlie, though, thinks that he's the one who'll be inheriting the title and the wealth of the Lord of Tintagel. Someday soon, someone's going to clue him in.

Right now, Charlie is the height of arrogance despite the depths of his ignorance. His lip curls, giving his face a villainous cast from the burning end of the cigarette, as he asks, "How does it feel to know that you could have been raised in the lap of luxury, had your every need seen to, had every desire fulfilled, except that your father decided to tell _his_ father to stick it where the sun doesn't shine?"

Eggsy shrugs. "Frankly, don't see where I'm missing anything. This pile is nice enough, but it's not like I haven't seen better." Lee Unwin hadn't let the grass grow under his feet; Eggsy's da had taken a small legacy and turned it into a more than respectable fortune. But since it's new money and not inherited, wankers like Charlie and his family of well-born morons think that Eggsy had grown up in the direst poverty. He's never made any noise about his father's company or his wealth, especially to his classmates.

That shocks Charlie. "This _pile? _You've seen better?"__

__Even though Tintagel is gorgeous, Eggsy's not going to admit it to Charlie. Eggsy can't let Charlie see just how much Tintagel means to him, and replies in the most blasé tone possible. "I've been to Blenheim Palace."_ _

__"Oh. Oh! Very funny, Unwin." Charlie grinds out his cigarette on a nearby tree and flicks the stub into the garden. "Mother wants to know if you're planning on staying with us for the full month. She doesn't know if she likes you enough to invite you to the summer house in Kent, but she doesn't want to be rude."_ _

__"Unlike you, who will probably get a First in rudeness."_ _

__"You're a regular comedian, Unwin. That's why I like you." Charlie pulls out a flask and takes a long swig from it. Eggsy's grateful he doesn't offer to share. "Since Mother will likely veto your presence in Kent, you can stay on here."_ _

__"It's nice of you to volunteer me as your cousin's houseguest. Won't the Marquess have a say in the matter?"_ _

__"Cousin Harry won't mind. He's the one who told me to invite you in the first place."_ _

__"Ah." Eggsy keeps his thoughts about the Marquess Cardoc and this invitation to himself._ _

__"I'm going back inside. Mother wants to play a few hands of bridge. You're a decent player, want to join us?"_ _

__Eggsy declines, he would prefer to spend as little time in the company of Claudette Hesketh as possible. "I think I'll stay out here for a bit." Besides, he has someplace to be, right about now._ _

__"Suit yourself." Charlie heads back to the house and the party that's going on in there._ _

__Eggsy continues his interrupted stroll through the garden, taking himself further from the house, further from people who detest him and whom he detests right back. The carefully raked gravel path ends, but Eggsy doesn't head back. There's a lightly worn track that veers towards a wooded copse that forms a natural windbreak between the rolling lawns and the high cliffs of the Cornish peninsula._ _

__Eggsy has taken this path before, it leads to a small summer house, a folly, built by the current Marquess' grandfather. Eggsy had found it the other day, and not by happenstance. Someone had left a map and a key in an envelope in his room; it had been there when he'd arrived at Tintagel. Today there had been a note on his breakfast tray with just the time on it, ten PM. If he doesn't hurry, he might be too late._ _

__It's full dark as Eggsy approaches, the thick canopy of trees blocking out nearly all of the moonlight. But there's a pool of light pouring out from the open window. It seems that he won't need the key after all, someone is waiting for him._ _

__He taps on the door, and then pushes it open; the evening's earlier annoyances melting away at the sight of who's waiting inside. "Hello, Harry. Sorry I'm late."_ _

__Harry Hart, Fourth Marquess Cardoc and Eggsy's host, greets his lover with a warm smile._ _

____

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry has never considered himself an impatient man, but sitting in the summer house, waiting for Eggsy, is trying his nerves. He'd been caught up with business in London until yesterday, returning to Cornwall late in the evening. He'd been exhausted and gave his apologies to his guests before heading to bed. The note he'd left on Eggsy's breakfast tray this morning had requested that Eggsy meet him here at ten PM, but it's now ten-thirty, and he fears that Eggsy isn't going to come.

Logically, he knows that anything could have delayed Eggsy. He can easily imagine that one of the bright young things who had been invited to the party by his cousin's wife to tempt Charlie into a respectable match could easily have fixated on Eggsy, requiring his time and attention and making a subtle escape impossible. 

Eggsy's also been a favorite among the older guests at Tintagel, Charlie's mother notwithstanding. He's unfailingly polite, he'll listen to them as they natter on about their aches and pains, about ungrateful children and grandchildren, about the state of the world.

Harry pours another small measure of scotch and forces himself to relax. He shouldn't allow himself to be consumed by doubt; Eggsy _will_ come. There is no one more loyal, more true, that Eggsy. He doesn't let himself think about how morally wrong their relationship is but he can't help but tick off a list of things that society would draw back in horror over if they knew. There's the obvious – they are inverts and could be tried in a criminal court if their relationship becomes public. Public hanging following a sodomy conviction isn't out of the realm of possibility, but more likely hard labor like Wilde had been sentenced to. Then there's the inescapable fact that he's twenty-five years older than Eggsy. If Eggsy had been a _girl_ of good birth, their relationship would be lauded and fawned over in the broadsheets as some great May-December romance, but Eggsy's a tender lad and even without the anti-sodomy laws on the books, Harry would be seen as the corrupter of innocence.

And worst of all, Harry and Eggsy are blood kin, distant enough that they could legally marry if one of them is a woman, but they are still related. Eggsy is his second cousin, once removed.

Eggsy's father, Lee, knows what Harry is, he's kept Harry's secret for more than thirty years, but he won't hesitate to expose him if he discovers Harry's relations with his son. It's what Harry deserves, most likely. After all, Lee and Harry had been playmates growing up; when they were young me, Harry had tried to negotiate some kind of peace between Lee and Lee's father, Rhys, when Lee had married Michelle Unwin. The best Harry had been able to do was ensure that Lee could take control of a small financial legacy from his maternal grandmother and invest his own money in the business Lee had started.

Harry sips his Scotch and tries to think of all the wonderful things that Eggsy brings into his life, instead of all of the darkness that he could bring into Eggsy's. It's not just sexual pleasure, which that Harry could easily get from any number of young and athletic men in the less polite clubs in London. It's the companionship, the feeling that he and Eggsy share a mind even when they are not sharing each other's bodies. Eggsy, brilliant and dedicated, loves every acre of Tintagel as if it was his own. 

A tap on the door interrupts Harry's ruminations. Before he can say anything, the door opens, and it's Eggsy, at last. "Sorry I'm late."

Harry gets up and goes to the boy, his heart racing with happiness. "Nothing to apologize for."

"Charlie caught me in the garden."

"Oh?" Harry hopes there's nothing to be concerned about. He frankly detests that young man, but he couldn't not invite him and his dreadful family and issue a direct invitation to Eggsy. With Eggsy here and settling nicely into life at Tintagel, Harry's just about ready to put a stake through the Heskeths' aspirations. 

"He wanted to rub my nose in everything that I missed out on because my da had the bad taste to fall in love with a servant's daughter. Not the first time he's done that, won't be the last." 

"I'm sorry about that."

"Like you just said, there's nothing to apologize for. Charlie's an arse and that's not your fault."

Harry's not so sure about that. Even as a child and then a young man, Harry had little time or patience for his cousin, Claudette. Maybe if he'd been kinder to her, she'd have been less of a harpy and done a better job raising her son? 

"You're overthinking things, Harry. Charlie's not a puppy who piddles inside the house because you didn't train him right. He's a jerk because his mother raised him to have expectations that will never be met."

Harry has to laugh. "When do you get to be so wise?"

Eggsy shrugs and there's a faint blush to his cheeks. It's irresistible; Harry cups a hand against Eggsy's face, running a thumb along that incredible jawline. Eggsy turns his face into Harry's palm and kisses it. 

"Enough about Charlie, Haz. You asked me here for a reason."

"And what do you think that reason might be?" Harry can't help it, Eggsy's sense of mischief is infectious. 

"I think you want to fuck me."

"Possibly." Harry feels the heat climbing up from his collar.

"And I think you want me to suck your fine, noble, cock." Eggsy sinks to his knees, his face a combination of delight and worshipfulness.

Harry's been at half-mast since Eggsy walked into the summer house, looking like the purest temptation in his evening wear, but the moment that Eggsy touches him, his hands on Harry's hips, thumbs framing his groin, Harry is fully hard.

"You want this, Haz."

"More than anything in the world, darling." Harry is breathless, not just in anticipation, but at Eggsy's utter fearlessness. Eggsy's always been like this, from the first time they'd come together – eager, irreverent, pure willingness wrapped up in a beautiful, delightful package.

Harry holds his breath as Eggsy's clever fingers work the buttons on his trousers. Eggsy's hands are wicked and hot as they slid through the gap and touch his cock through the soft cotton of his smallclothes.

Eggsy licks his lips and looks up at Harry, stating the obvious. "You're hard."

"Only for you, my dearest."

Eggsy finds the placket in Harry's drawers, pulls his cock out and worships it, with lips and tongue, swallowing down until his lips are brushing fine wool. But as much as Harry loves Eggsy's mouth, he doesn't want to end the night spilling down his boy's throat, and he pulls Eggsy to his feet.

"I want to make love to you tonight; I want to feel you under me, around me. I want to hear you come, screaming my name."

Harry divests Eggsy of his evening jacket, the heavy silk bow tie and starts to work open the shirt studs. Contrary to expectations, Eggsy isn't wearing a vest beneath his shirt and Harry reveals warm, ivory and peach-toned skin. He can't help himself and puts his mouth to the apple of Eggsy's shoulder. He kisses it and then bears down with his teeth, marking Eggsy.

Eggsy doesn't protest, he digs his fingers into Harry's buttocks and hauls him close. He struggles to get his hands under Harry's jacket and they separate just long enough for Harry to do his own disrobing. Eggsy finishes taking his shirt off, depositing his cufflinks and shirt studs in a small disk before playing valet to Harry, taking possession of Harry's wrists and then his collar, and finally down his shirt front. Harry's own cufflinks and studs join Eggsy's with a small, musical clatter, and by the time Eggsy turns back, Harry's down to his short and hose and feeling just a little ridiculous.

Eggsy seems to feel the same way. "This whole getting naked process is humiliating. Gals have it so much easier, just lift off the dress and drop the panties. They don't look ridiculous in just their stockings."

That stops Harry cold. "You like seeing girls naked? You've see girls getting undressed?"

"My best mate, Roxy. She and your friend Sally get along like a house on fire. Asked me to stand guard once, gave me a bit of a show for being such a gentleman."

"Ah, Sally and Roxanne. They are special friends." Harry had forgotten that Sally Gideon, his very capable solicitor (although technically just a clerk since a woman can't be an articled solicitor), has been enjoying the affections of Eggsy's dear friend, Roxanne Morton.

"You jealous?"

Harry lets out a bit of a sigh. "No, not really. Or if I am, it's of your stainless youth."

"Stainless, certainly not."

Harry brushes a kiss on Eggsy's brow. "You are, compared to me."

"Because I didn't go to the Continent to fight?"

"You were too young, Eggsy. And besides, you're your parent's only son, and ultimately, you are the heir to this estate. I wouldn't have allowed it."

"So, it was all right for you to go and nearly die, but not me?"

"Exactly." Harry sees that Eggsy's getting upset; this isn't the first time they've had this argument and he wants to defuse it. He tugs Eggsy towards the bed, and says, "Now, are we going to stand around all night or are we going to fuck?"

Eggsy laughs, although Harry knows that he's not conceding the argument. "Oh, I vote for the fucking."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

It's not quite dawn when Eggsy leaves the summer house. He waits for Harry to lock the door and they head back towards the house. The sky, through the trees, is still decorated with twinkling stars, but once free of the small copse, the eastern vista has turned palest pink.

Harry's dressed in a summer weight linen suit that he'd kept stored in the folly, and Eggsy's got on trousers and an open collar shirt, what he'd normally wear for an afternoon in the country – apparently Harry had raided his wardrobe and brought them down, too. Less chance of raising anyone's eyebrows if they both are spotted in last night's formalwear.

The path forks, one way leading back to the house, the other to the cliffs.

Eggsy tells Harry, "I'm going to watch the sun rise."

"Do you want company? Or have you had enough of me?" Harry smiles.

"Company might be nice for a little while." He'll never have enough of Harry.

There's a light breeze coming off the bay, and as they sit on a convenient stone bench placed near the cliff edge, watching the night get eaten by the dawn, the sky goes from pink to gold so bright, Eggsy's blinded as the sun clears the horizon. In that moment, he feel's Harry's lips on his, the warmth of his breath against his cheek, the gentleness of his fingers through his hair.

Eggsy feels more that sees Harry get up and as his vision clears, he watches Harry walk back to the house. He turns back to face the rising sun, enjoying how it glimmers like diamonds on the water as the tide rushes in. He wishes that he and Harry could make love here, under the morning sky, uncaring of what anyone might say. It's not just the Heskeths that they worry about – although Charlie and his mother, Claudette, are a pair of poisonous snakes of any that still live in England. It's the servants, too. Just a word in the wrong ear and their lives would be destroyed. A public trial, a sentence to hard labor, ruined reputations; it's all so bloody damn unfair. 

Eggsy's da would be worse than the Marquess of Queensbury. He murder Harry if he knew what Harry did with Eggsy in the night. Lee had even gone so far as to warn Eggsy that Harry's a good sort, but there's a reason he's still a bachelor. Eggsy had played dumb and Lee had, with plenty of stammering and cheeks bright red from embarrassment, explained that while it had been acceptable at school, Harry hadn't given up the habit of preferring the – ah _company_ – of handsome men, rather than beautiful women.

Eggsy had heroically refrained from telling his da that he preferred the company of handsome men rather than beautiful women, too. And that he'd found Harry to be particularly handsome, even with the missing eye and dreadful scar from a German officer's bayonet. 

Eggsy knows how dreadful the war had been, the months and years of pointless fighting, the lives destroyed by poison gas and lead bullets and rain guns and bombs. He knows that there had been no glory on Flander's blood soaked fields and France's endless trenches. He knows how narrowly he'd escaped the same fate as a million other Englishmen, had Armistice come six months later, he'd have been old enough to join the Army and he would have, his status as an only son be damned – that exemption had never been part of the National Service laws. 

Eggsy knows how terrible the war had been from listening to Harry, who'd spent the first holidays after the Armistice with Eggsy's family. One night, between Christmas and New Year's, when Lee and Michelle had gone out to visit friends, Eggsy had found Harry, drinking alone in the library. Eggsy hadn't said a word; he'd just eased the empty bottle of gin out of Harry's hands and offered him water and a warm blanket. He'd sat with Harry though the night, keeping a silent vigil with him.

As the clock chimed the three o'clock hour, he'd helped Harry up to bed and when Harry very quietly begged him not to leave; Eggsy had stretched out on top of the covers. He held Harry as he trembled; he wiped away the man's tears and didn't flinch when Harry removed the eye-patch. He listened as Harry told him of the nightmares of war, of death and destruction and the loss of self. That had been the first of many nights he'd stayed with Harry, listened to him talk, or stayed with Harry and made love with him.

"I would do everything to keep you safe, Eggsy. To know that there is still goodness in this world."

Time has helped Harry, if not healed him. There's still so much darkness burning in him, more scars than just on his face, but there's strength, too. The nightmares still come, but with less frequency, or at least Harry has better control and doesn't let Eggsy see the damage so often. 

Last night had been near perfect, a memory that Eggsy will hold onto forever. Harry had been masterful, controlling, taking everything Eggsy has to give and returning only the purest of pleasure. Maybe it's because they are here, at Tintagel, in Harry's home, in the perfect privacy of the summer house, and not in some hotel in London or Oxford, where there's always a threat of discovery.

The sky is now the perfect blue of a Cornwall morning and Eggsy checks his watch. It's a little before seven and he's been out here, musing about Harry for well over an hour. While most of the guests at Tintagel, including the Heskeths, are generally not early risers, Harry keeps an orderly household and the first breakfast dishes will be on the sideboard soon.

It would be nice to share a meal with just the master of the household and Eggsy picks up his pace, crossing the lawn, past the manicured parterres and the beautiful, but now dormant night-blooming garden. A footman, probably stationed by Harry to wait for him, opens the door from the garden to the breakfast room, and as Eggsy had anticipated, the buffet has been set up and Harry's already seated with a plate, a cup of strong coffee, and the newspaper. 

"Good morning, Lord Harry." Eggsy also greets the two elderly sisters already at the table, Rose and Petunia Tremartin; they are related to him and to Harry via his great-grandmother and have been fixtures in drawing rooms throughout Cornwall for nearly fifty years and have been near-permanent guests at Tintagel since the War.

Harry rolls his eyes, but doesn't suggest that Eggsy drop the honorific. "You're up and about early, Gareth. Did you not have a good night?"

"Oh, I had a lovely evening. Eggsy makes sure his back is to the ladies, and gives Harry a wink. "But the dawn is far too lovely to waste lying abed. Went for a walk along the cliff."

"Have you been down to the beach yet?"

"Yesterday was the first day it hadn't rained, so I took Miss Rose and Miss Petunia into town. We had ices and did a little shopping. I was the envy of all the lads with such lovely companions." Eggsy turns and smiles at the two elderly ladies, who giggle like schoolgirls at the attention.

Harry turns a page in the newspaper, offering with laconic ease, "Perhaps we can go down to the beach this afternoon. If you are interested, we can take the horses out for a ride."

Once, not so long ago, Eggsy would have been terrified of the idea of getting on the back of a horse, but Harry had given him lessons, patiently teaching him how to ride. Eggsy has no interest in racing or hunting, but he does love the feel of those great gentle beasts between his thighs. And seeing Harry in tight breeches and high boots is a treat not to be passed up. Nor is helping him out of them, either.

But all he says is, "Sounds aces. After lunch, while the tide's out?"

"Perfect." Eggsy serves himself a substantial breakfast and a footman brings him coffee and a small glass of juice, a treat from Harry's well-maintained orangery.

Unfortunately, the morning peace is interrupted by the arrival of Charlie and Claudette, trailed by the elder Mr. Hesketh, a gentleman so colorless, so lifeless, he might as well be a faded cardboard cutout. Eggsy thinks his name might be Walter, but he could be wrong.

Eggsy's grateful to see that the Heskeths are wearing traveling clothes, which means they'll be decamping from Cornwall today. Charlie's also sporting a bright red palm print on the side of his face. Eggsy would love to know who slapped him, but doesn't think this is the time or the place to ask. 

Harry finally puts down his newspaper and makes a production of looking over the Heskeths. "You're heading up to Kent today?"

Claudette answers for the family, of course. "Yes, my father has not been well, it would be best to spend time with him."

"Certainly, and your filial devotion should be commended." Harry then adds blandly, "Please give him my regards."

Claudette then affixes her gimlet stare on Eggsy. "Young man, I do hope that Charles told you that you cannot accompany us to Kent. You'll need to make other arrangements."

Harry answers for Eggsy, "Young Gareth will stay here at Tintagel until he has to return to Oxford for term."

That puzzles Claudette, "Why ever would you issue such an extended invitation?"

Eggsy knows why, but he's very interested in hearing Harry's explanation. They'd talked a bit about puncturing Claudette's illusions. Charlie's, too. As for what Charlie's father thinks or knows, that something that Eggsy doesn't care to find out.

Before Harry can answer, Mrs. Penhill, the housekeeper, and Mr. Polgrin, the butler, do the unthinkable and interrupt the meal.

"Begging your pardon, Lord Cardoc, but might we have a word?"

Eggsy finds it interesting how the two senior servants glance over at the Heskeths, and how Charlie looks both outraged and worried at the same time.

"Here, now?"

Mrs. Penhill nods.

Claudette looks like she's just swallowed a lemon, but she stays put, clearly more interested in potential gossip than being outraged by the servants' disruption.

Harry asks, all gentle and lordly concern, "What is the matter."

Mr. Polgrin speaks up, "There's been an incident, milord. One of the guests had tried to outrage young Melinda."

Eggsy sees red, bright blazing red, the same scarlet that's decorating Charlie's face. Melinda's one of the upstairs housemaids, young and pretty, but simple-minded. She's also a favorite among the staff and even the guests – at least those who have blood and not ice water in their veins.

Rose, or maybe Petunia, demands, "Who would do such a dastardly thing?"

Mr. Polgrin clears his throat. "Young Mr. Hesketh."

Charlie leaps to his feet, "That's a lie! He slanders me. Mother, father, this is all a lie."

"'Tis not a lie. I heard Melinda crying and we stopped the attack. I'm afraid I lost my temper, my lord, and slapped Mr. Hesketh." Mrs. Penhill twists her hands in her apron. "I would have shot him if I had a gun."

"She tried to seduce me, the dirty bitch!" 

Mrs. Penhill shakes her head. "Melinda wouldn't do that. She don't know about those things, she's seventeen, but her brain don't work that. She's like a little child. Only someone twisted would try to force himself on a child. Milord, you promised she'd be safe here."

"And so she should be." Harry gets to his feet. "Please make sure that Melinda is all right and if she needs a more help that you can provide, have someone fetch Doctor Penryn from the village."

The servants thank Harry, glare at the Heskeths and leave the breakfast room. The warm summer air turns cold as Harry stalks around the table to confront Charlie. "I have told you on more than one occasion that the servants are not to be touched."

Charlie sneers, "Oh, seriously, cuz? You're getting all worked up because I tried to get something going with one of the housemaids? That girl's been panting after me since I arrived."

"I don't care if that _girl_ tore her clothes off and threw herself at you, Charles. You have been told that the servants are off limits. No exception and no excuses."

Eggsy's kind of proud that Harry doesn't make sweet, simple Melinda into a special case, and that all of the servants are to be respected, not just the most vulnerable ones.

Claudette, of course, has to have her say. "I don't know why you're taking a servant's side over your heir's, Harry."

Eggsy loves how Harry plays Claudette, leading her down the proverbial garden path. "What do you mean?"

"Well, Harry – to take a mere servant's word? One who attacked my darling boy? You should be calling for the constable and having her arrested. Attacking a noble person is a crime!"

"Your darling boy is a thwarted rapist, Claudette. And it's far more of a crime for Charles to attack a housemaid than it is for Mrs. Polgrin to defend a vulnerable child. And as for you son's so-called nobility, the law no longer makes a distinction between noble and commoner when it comes to criminal procedure."

"She's just a servant, their kind do not deserve such niceties." Claudette sniffs.

Harry stares at the woman and if Eggsy had the least bit of fondness for Charlie's mother, he'd be scared for her. 

As it is, Claudette continues to prove that she's as stupid as her son. "If you're not going to have her arrested, you need to fire her."

"And why do you think you can dictate to me?"

"Well, Charlie is your heir. You have a responsibility to him, and to the estate he'll inherit."

Eggsy bites his lip to keep himself from saying anything on the subject. But Rose and Petunia don't suffer any such restraint. Rose says, "Claudette, you can't be that stupid. Why would you think that your son is Cousin Harry's heir? "

"Well, he _is_ the eldest male child of the family," Claudette replies, her tone supercilious and far too superior. 

Rose and Petunia burst out in peals of laughter. Petunia catches her breath first. "You are just that stupid, woman. There are two men ahead of him on the family tree. Lee Unwin is Harry's heir. Well, his heir, unless Harry finally marries and has sons. And after Lee, young Gareth here will inherit."

Claudette sniffs. "Lee was disinherited when he married a housemaid. He can't inherit the Marquessate."

Eggsy doesn't know if he likes that people are talking about his family as if he isn't in the room. But a quick glance at Harry tells him he should keep quiet for now.

Harry retakes his seat, leans back and crosses his legs, looking ever so much like the lord of the manor, which is exactly what he is. Eggsy does his best not to get aroused by the subtle display of power.

Of course, Eggsy fails miserably and drapes the tablecloth over his lap.

Harry finally says, "Claudette, I don't know whether I should be shocked or merely disappointed at your ignorance. Your parents' failure to provide even the most basic of educations has certainly done you a disservice."

"Harry, I do not deserve your insults. I am merely stating a fact. Lee can't inherit Cardoc, he was thrown out of the family. I was there when it happened."

"You might have been there, but your interpretation of the events is deeply flawed. Lee's father, Rhys, our uncle and the second son of a second son, may have disinherited Lee from his own personal estate, but that has no effect on the entail. After me, comes Lee, who is the next eldest male of the Hart line – "

Claudette screeches, "But he changed his name to Unwin, he took his wife's name!"

"Blood is blood, or as Shakespeare might say, _'a rose by any other name would smell as sweet'_ , and Lee Hart, or 'Unwin' as he calls himself, is my heir. Lee has a son, young Gareth, who has been learning about what it means to be a landholder and manager of a great estate, and will continue that education by my side this summer. In time, the title and my estate will pass to Gareth. Your son, Charles, would only inherit if both Lee and Gareth predecease me, and in that case, I will marry and make it my life's goal to have a son, if just to ensure that your repulsive offspring does not inherit the title and estate. And if that doesn't happen, my will is written so that he will just get the title and the entailed properties, which do not include Tintagel or any of my personal wealth, which will go to Lee and Michelle's daughter, Daisy. Charlie, when he inherits, will get a bankrupt title that is nothing more than a few acres with some empty cottages and a piece of paper from the College of Heraldry with the words 'Marquess Cardoc' on it."

Charlie glances around the room, perhaps to find a weapon; thankfully, there are only butter knives on the sideboard. Without any ability to do violence, Charlie does what Charlie always does; he looks to Claudette to fix things. "Mother! This is outrageous – that this, this jumped up lout will be the Marquess Cardoc and I'm to have _nothing_!"

Claudette gets to her feet, all steely outrage and looks at Eggsy. "I wouldn't count on that inheritance ever happening, Mr. Unwin. My father is not without influence."

Harry sighs. "Feel free to waste Chester's money on solicitors, Claudette, but you won't get anywhere. I've already confirmed Lee's and Gareth's rights with the College of Heraldry, which means that King Edward himself has signed off on the line of inheritance."

"Well, we'll see about that." Claudette looks at her husband, who's smiling as if he's in the audience of some highly amusing stage show. "What's so funny, Walter?"

Walter stops smiling and gives his wife a hard look, so different from the earlier blandness. "I've been waiting for nearly twenty-five years to see you get your just desserts. My mother had told me not to marry a woman who could barely read, said that ignorance isn't bliss and a foolish woman does not make a fond wife. She was right."

Claudette gapes at her husband like a landed fish, finally wordless. She glares at everyone and flounces out of the room with as much dignity as she can muster, with Charlie whining after her. Walter finishes his toast and coffee, gets up, kisses the backs of Rose's and Petunia's hands and smiles at Eggsy. "Don't worry about Claudette or Charlie. They are the only two who've been suffering from the delusion of inheritance. Chester should have discouraged it, but he dotes on his daughter and grandson a bit too much. I'll get Charlie married to someone who'll take control of him, maybe lock him up in the Highlands, where he can only cause trouble with the sheep."

With that incredible pronouncement, Walter departs and Eggsy can't help himself, bursting out in laughter at the thought of Charlie stuck in the Scottish hinterlands. 

Even Harry can't contain his own mirth when Rose says, "Oh dear, those poor, poor sheep."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

By early afternoon, the rest of the houseguests, except for Rose and Petunia, depart. Harry rather adores his elderly cousins; they'd never married, although Rose had once been engaged to a young man who'd broken her heart. He suspects that they know of his proclivities, and wouldn't be shocked to discover his relationship with Eggsy, but he'd prefer not to test those waters.

Luncheon is a quiet affair and Harry lets Rose and Petunia carry the weight of the conversation, but by unspoken agreement, no one talks about this morning's drama or the Heskeths. They gently interrogate Eggsy about his university studies, both women expressing no small bit of envy at the educational opportunities available for young men. Even though there are colleges for women at both Cambridge and Oxford, the sisters had been denied the chance at higher education; that would had been something that only bluestockings would do and their parents had feared that any kind of advanced learning would doom them to spinsterhood.

"And in the end, it made no difference. We are both spinsters, without anyone but each other."

Harry contradicts them. "You have me, my dears."

"And me," Eggsy adds.

Both women blink and apologize for being so maudlin. "And for that, we are most grateful."

Eggsy steers the conversation over a variety of subjects and Harry is unutterably delighted just how well the young man fits into life at Tintagel. Eggsy's young and vital and it wouldn't have surprised Harry in the least if he'd been a bit awkward with the elderly women, but instead, Eggsy goes out of his way to find common ground with them - a love of mystery novels, of gardening, he's volunteered to be their bearer when they go out bird watching.

Petunia sighs, "Oh my, how lovely it is to have a young person in the household. Not that you aren't a delight, Harry, it's just that young Gareth is so … accommodating to our whims." 

"Call me Eggsy, if you'd like. It's what my mum and da and baby sis call me."

Harry's not so sure that the sisters will take Eggsy up on his offer. They are certainly not high-sticklers, but the nickname is so odd that they may not be comfortable using it. And yet, apparently he's wrong. The ladies sigh in delight and start telling Eggsy about a young man they'd once known who'd called himself Foggy.

Eventually the sisters excuse themselves, leaving Harry and Eggsy in sole possession of the room. Harry finishes his tea and asks Eggsy if he's still interested in taking the horses out for a ride to the beach.

"That'd be aces, Harry."

Harry doesn't bother to hide his smile. Now that they are alone, Eggsy's dropped the honorific. 

"Then I'll see you in about a half-hour, down at the stables." He's looking forward to seeing Eggsy in jodhpurs and riding boots, and perhaps seeing those jodhpurs around Eggsy's knees and that beautiful back and ass exposed to the sun. As he heads up to his rooms, Harry checks in with Mrs. Polgrin to enquire how Melinda is doing. She tells him that the girl is upset, but otherwise uninjured and thanks his lordship for his concern. Before Harry dismisses the housekeeper, he asks her to tell the kitchen staff to prepare a small picnic hamper for him and Eggsy. 

Even though they've just had lunch, riding does have a way of working up an appetite.

  
_FIN_  



End file.
